It is not intentional, my dear,
the way my graces fall
like drunk starfish when I
see a graveyard unvisited.
The dead are not undeserving
of the truth.

I have a genetic predisposition to loss.

I remember how a water-chaser
tastes after vodka. The burn
dilutes,

but the blackout is darker.
I know what an air-raid
tastes like.

Remi Recchia is an MFA candidate in Poetry at Bowling Green State University, where he serves as Assistant Poetry Editor for the Mid-American Review and teaches first-year writing. His work has appeared in or will soon appear in Pittsburgh Poetry Review, Old Northwest Review, Front Porch, Gravel, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Anti-Heroin Chic, and Ground Fresh Thursday Press, among others.